


doing things I never do (and it's all for show)

by Laeana



Series: ℓove is a seduction game, [5]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Feels, Best Friends, Fights, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Language of Flowers, Love/Hate, M/M, Regret, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:28:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27575855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeana/pseuds/Laeana
Summary: Going back to the florist. Having nothing left to say. Waiting, waiting again that Charles speaks.A fucking suicide attempt, damn.
Relationships: Pierre Gasly & Daniil Kvyat, Pierre Gasly/Charles Leclerc
Series: ℓove is a seduction game, [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2002225
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	doing things I never do (and it's all for show)

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [at least i look cool](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22498852) by [Laeana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeana/pseuds/Laeana). 



> Pierre visits Charles at the hospital.
> 
> (featuring : at least i look cool by sasha sloan)

He never wanted to go back to this florist again. For all that it represented. He walks through the door with a sigh, Daniil seems reluctant to follow him. Do they both have something ? Does this something have a meaning ? He doesn't think so.

He walks around the shop slowly, observes the flowers. One particularly hits him in the eye. It had been a long time since he had seen one. So he approaches the counter.

It is only then that he realizes that it is not the usual boy standing there, maybe Valtteri if he remembers what his friend told him correctly, but a man, older with blue eyes.

— Hello can I help you ?

— Yes I would like a bouquet. Tamarisk, please.

The salesperson hums in response. He observes the movements made with delicacy. It is both similar and different to those of Valtteri.

Daniil finally joins him and worry tints his features, it's quite rare. What he can say about his comrade is that he is quite detached from everything, nothing seems to be able to reach him, he thinks beyond. Not even love. He never understood it. But that, this emotion, is new.

— Here.

He pays for his order, thanks the shopkeeper. He's close to the door and they're ready to go when the Russian beside him stops, taking a deep breath.

— Is ... uh ... Val okay ?

— He said he's taking a break from work, he'll probably be back in a while. Did you want to see him ?

— No, no, thank you. Goodbye.

The eagerness visible, he has difficulty following the other student. He grips his flowers a little harder – protection – before catching the long strides of this fleeing.

— You're worried about him.

— No. Mind your own business. You said you got out of this whole thing.

Daniil grabs a cigarette with a trembling hand and when he tries to light it, Pierre grabs it and throws it to the ground. Bad habit that he tends to take back when he is too pressured, they know each other well.

— Do not change the subject. It's not the same thing, you know that.

— Ah yes ? He'll hurt you again, you're aware of it and yet you continue-

— You that’s your fucking character ! You are responsible for your own actions, don't say otherwise. You don't care at all, this is the first time that I see you being worried about something or someone.

Something deep inside him that weighs heavily. This nonchalant attitude that annoys him. Damn. He takes a deep breath of air, letting the sensation run through his body.

— Fuck. Do you even know what Charles did ? I'm so sick of it. You mind your own business. You will teach me a lesson later.

Going to the hospital in apparent solitude without waiting for a response. He wants to do what he wants, he's so contradictory. To want to go away, to want to come back. He doesn't want to fight anymore and he doesn't want to hurt anymore.

But, apparently, if he doesn't take care of Charles, Charles falls apart.

He puts his tamarisk trees in the vase he took care to leave in the room. Flowers, too long a tradition.

The first days, the Monegasque refused him everything, even the slightest visit. Surely his pride that spoke for him, once again. He won't say anything, used to it.

Now ... it's getting better in a way. The little he sees him awake. They don't talk, he always waits for his childhood friend to start the conversation, tell him anything, he's not the one who opened his arms to unconsciousness damn it, but it doesn't happen.

This time, the wounded man's green irises congeal on the flowers, as if they evoke something in him. He would like to know. He would like to be able to understand every thought that crosses him.

— I remember that.

A gritty, damaged voice.

— Protection ? I don't need it, Pierre. Not me, you. I am dangerous. Especially for you, in a way.

The broken silence is like a flowing torrent. Charles does not once raise his eyes to look at him, but he does speak. He talks and he should be happy with it.

— Flowers ... I understood everything. You don't have to do this. You don't have to stay there. You should go, you should leave me. Like everyone before you, like Daniel did.

— Is that really what you want ?

A burst runs through the body of the med student who runs a hand through his hair, displaying a shaky smile that crumbles far too quickly. Wet eyes.

— It's not ... it's not really about what I want right ? I mean you, you are free. I'm not ... shit.

He observes his companion who stammers, stumbles over his words. He doesn't want back roads, he just wants the truth. He feels tired of it all.

— If you want me to go, I will. But you have to say it.

The younger buried his face in his hands, inhaling and exhaling heavily. He can clearly see the bandages, god damn the bandages, which wrap three-quarters of his arms. He's still struggling to realize.

What kind of a big enough shock it can be to find his best friend lying in the entrance of his apartment amid frames and shards of glass, hugging a blue Ipomea, the last flower he has offered him, surrounded by red.

He bites his lip and when he thinks about it, he feels his stomach contracting. Nothing changes in him. The love is still there, despite everything.

— I want you to stay. Of course, how could I not want it ? You are the only one who has ever been there for me. But do I only have the right ?

Such selfishness, really. Always throw the ball back at him, make him feel like he can choose. Can he really choose ?

— Charlie. This is not the point. If the next time I leave, I don't come back or come back too late, in what condition will I find you ?

— I didn't mean to do that. I was reckless.

— Are you sure ?

This time their gazes meet, he sees fury shining in that of the boy who faces him.

— I have no problem.

Charles then lowers his eyes, almost ashamed, his sentence struggling to leave the tips of his, pretty but damaged, lips from which are born a twisted, broken smile.

— I'm the problem.

Pierre does not know what to answer. He lost his words. He sees everything they've been through. And suddenly, he's more afraid of what might become of his friend.

Nothing, not even their mouths that meet and the soft sigh that escapes from his friend, could reassure him about this.

**Author's Note:**

> at some point, I thought it was all I could write about them. The uncertainty, the distress ... we're not always left with a certain answer and defined, life can change at any moment. But it wasn't the case and I didn't want to leave it all like this, so there's more to this, more to see.
> 
> Thanks for reading


End file.
